


knowledge is stronger than memory

by procrastinatingbookworm



Series: there are far worse things awaiting man than death [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood, Blood Drinking, M/M, Mind Manipulation, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Trans Jonah Magnus, Trans Male Character, Vampire Turning, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:48:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24098356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/procrastinatingbookworm/pseuds/procrastinatingbookworm
Summary: Jonah Magnus falls victim to horror fallacy number one: fucking around and finding out.
Relationships: Barnabas Bennett/Jonah Magnus, Mordechai Lukas/Jonah Magnus
Series: there are far worse things awaiting man than death [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1740925
Comments: 3
Kudos: 52
Collections: Associated Articles Regarding One Jonah Magnus





	knowledge is stronger than memory

**Author's Note:**

> Beta-reading and summary by crestofthebeholding. Thanks to Cat, Jay, Dundee, and the rest of the eye horror Discord server for the encouragement and ideas.

Of course it was raining, the day Jonah went to Moorland House. Raining _and_ windy, so the umbrella did nothing, and by the time he reached the door he was soaked, shivering, and _pissed off._

Everyone had heard stories about the Moorland House and the mysterious Lukas family. Apparently, Mordechai Lukas had been the patriarch of the family for as long as anyone could remember, rarely seen, but never seeming to have aged when he was.

Aside from Mordechai, the rest of the family came and went readily, usually one at a time, but occasionally in a silent, black-clad group. Some returned to the house, and some never did.

According to certain people, children played on the lawn of the house, but always alone, watched by Mordechai from the window. 

Jonah thought that particular story was less true than the rest. He had never seen a child in the vicinity of the Moorland House that seemed to belong there, certainly not a lone one. 

The children that lived in the area always traveled in packs, daring each other to run as close to the Moorland House as they could bear before racing back.

And yet, for all the tall tales, Jonah couldn’t pin down one actual fact about the Moorland House or the Lukases. Not even where the names came from. Everyone knew about Mordechai Lukas, though no one had spoken to him.

So Jonah was walking through the rain to Moorland House, intending to find out what the truth was.

The theory that had sprung from all those stories was, of course, that Mordechai Lukas was a vampire. Jonah thought that was highly unlikely, but the evidence—if the people living in Kent were to be believed—was just plausible enough to warrant investigation.

Soaking wet and ready to hit the next person that so much as brushed up against him wasn’t the state he had intended to be in when he knocked on the door, but he wasn’t going to turn back now.

A woman in a black dress opened the door. She could have been anywhere from thirty to sixty, hair neatly done up and greying only at the temples. Her face was pale and pinched, with a sourness to the lines of it.

“What do you seek?” she asked, without preamble.

“Mordechai Lukas,” Jonah replied.

“He doesn’t see visitors,” the woman replied, and Jonah felt a thrill. So the name, at least, was real.

“I’m a friend of Maxwell Rayner’s,” Jonah tried. 

The woman scowled, as if having an internal debate. “Wait here,” she snapped, and shut the door again.

Jonah huddled under the roof’s overhang, trying to avoid the worst of the rain. His hair was plastered to his face, and his clothes were clinging to his body.

He always had some discomfort with the shape of his body, usually diminished by his specially-made corset and loose-fitting men’s clothes, but the rain had stuck his shirt and trousers to his skin, showing the outline of his corset and the curves of his hips.

Jonah pulled his coat tighter around himself, and tried to rub some of the water from his hair.

The door opened again, and the sour-faced woman stepped back, holding it wide. “Come in.”

Jonah’s heart leapt, his stomach jolting with excitement. He stepped in, glancing around as he did.

The inside of Moorland House closely resembled the outside. It was plain and economical, but impressively large, with high ceilings and massive rooms.

The illusion of excess space was perpetuated by the dim lighting, hiding from where Jonah was standing exactly where one room ended and another began.

It was also _freezing_ , and it only got worse the deeper he went, following the woman through the house.

He was so busy shivering he nearly didn’t notice how uncannily difficult to track the halls were. Each one seemed to look the same, and looking back only made him more disoriented.

Jonah was somewhere between despair and fury by the time he was finally left outside a heavy wooden door embossed, in what looked like silver, with an _M._

The woman was gone.

Jonah took a moment to compose himself, and lifted his hand to knock on the door.

“Enter,” a voice called back, immediately, before his knuckles even brushed the wood, and Jonah startled so badly he had to breathe with deliberate slowness to settle his heart.

Jonah went in. The man at the mahogany writing desk was huge, even sitting down. His hair was long and dark, streaked with shades of grey, matching his beard.

He was pale, just like the woman who had met him at the door, his face the same weathered agelessness.

“Mordechai Lukas,” Jonah said, unable to keep what was nearly an accusation out of his voice. “I’m Jonah Magnus.”

“Alvenia tells me you’re one of Maxwell’s,” Mordechai—for it undoubtedly was—replied.

God, but his voice was lovely. Dark and deep like the wood his hands rested on as he stood, rising to a full height that seemed too great to be human.

Jonah exhaled. “He has informed me of the existence of an unexplored side to our world, yes.”

“Is that why you’re here?” Mordechai’s gaze rakes across Jonah’s body, scrutinizing, almost _hungry_. “As an errand boy?”

Not even a hesitation before the epithet. Jonah breathed a sigh of relief. “No. I’m here out of curiosity. The people in this area tell fascinating stories.”

“They do,” Mordechai acknowledged. His voice made Jonah’s chest ache. “You are here to see if they are true?”

“Yes,” Jonah breathed. He had been so angry, a moment ago. So frustrated by the rain and the hallways and the cold. Now all he wanted was to listen to Mordechai speak.

“I’m sure I can find some way to… settle your mind.” That low voice melted over Jonah, pressing deep into his skin. He didn’t want it to stop.

He was so cold.

“Stop shivering,” Mordechai commanded, and Jonah tried.

He tensed his muscles, relaxed them, gritted his teeth, rubbed at his arms, but his coat was damp, and he was cold, and Mordechai would be disappointed in him, and send him away for his weakness.

A huge, rough thumb brushed across Jonah’s cheek, cupping his chin and lifting it.

“Interesting,” Mordechai rumbled. “Very interesting.”

Jonah leaned into his hand.

Mordechai smiled, and Jonah caught sight of his fangs.

He should have reared back, should have turned and run, but he knew that he would never make it out of the Moorland House unguided, and anyway, he wasn’t being threatened.

He felt safe, under that cold stare. Observed, as though he were not a person but a slab of meat.

Jonah was _elated_.

“So it’s true,” he said, grinning at Mordechai. “You are a vampire.”

“I’m sure it must be rather disappointing,” Mordechai rumbled, but he was still smiling, somehow _pleased_ that he’d been caught out. “To know I am, simply, a monster, as they say, and not upholding some wild and impressive scheme of anonymity.”

Jonah felt dizzy. He couldn’t be sure why. “I was assuming that you were simply a reclusive family, with similarly appearing patriarchs. You can’t fathom how excited I am to have met a real monster.”

Still holding his face with the other hand, Mordechai ran a knuckle over Jonah’s cheek. “You’re very brave, Jonah. Or very stupid.”

Jonah’s elation fell out from under him. “I am _not_ unintelligent, Mr. Lukas.”

“I didn’t say you were. I said you were _stupid._ ” Mordechai opened his mouth, baring his fangs. “You ought to have seen this coming.”

Jonah expected fangs to pierce his throat, but Mordechai only stroked his face with two fingertips.

“Sweet boy,” Mordechai purred. “You have so much potential. I can use you far better than Maxwell could dream of.”

Jonah nodded. He opened his mouth to say no, he was satisfied where he was, but he nodded. Mordechai laughed, the sound rumbling deep in his chest.

“What’re you doing to me?” Jonah slurred, and it was only when Mordechai let go of his chin that Jonah felt the fingernail slide out of his throat.

Mordechai licked the blood from his fingertip. “A simple sedative in our venom. To make our victims more compliant.

Jonah staggered. He tried to move away, but his chest seized in pain, and he ended up stumbling closer.

“Mordechai,” he breathed, catching hold of the vampire’s frilled shirtfront. His fingers felt indescribably heavy and utterly brittle at once. “I don’t believe you.”

Jonah’s heart jumped with delight as blank shock bloomed in Mordechai’s eyes, though it quickly settled to a gleam of pride.

“Very good, Jonah. There is a sedative at work, though it is much milder in the nails than in the teeth. It’s more numbing than mind-altering. What is happening is that you are under my thrall.”

As soon as Mordechai said the word, Jonah was aware of it. Something pressed at the edges of his mind, less oppressive and more beckoning, like a light in the dark, making him want to be closer to Mordechai.

“That’s fascinating,” Jonah said, before he could stop himself. “Does it rely on eye contact?”

“At first,” Mordechai replied. “With practice, it can be invoked simply by speaking. Or just with presence.”

Jonah let that sink in. “Are you going to kill me?”

Mordechai smiled, and even through the thrall, Jonah was afraid.

“Oh no, Jonah. That would be a waste.”

*

Jonah had no choice but to follow Mordechai down the twisting hallways, from the study to Mordechai’s bedroom.

The bedroom was just as dark as the rest of the house, but the floor was covered with what looked like brand new carpet. Jonah could guess why.

“Mr. Rayner and his associates are very powerful,” Jonah said, as Mordechai locked the door behind them. He couldn’t help but follow, but Mordechai couldn’t keep him from talking. “I’m an asset of theirs. You would do well not to make any attempt on me if you aren’t prepared to deal with my allies in kind.”

Mordechai was facing away, but Jonah could have sworn the vampire rolled his eyes.

“Your thrall is an impressive power, but I doubt you could withstand the entirety of—”

“Stop.” Mordechai said, firmly. “Talking.”

Jonah’s mouth clicked shut.

“You’re testing my patience, boy.” Mordechai warned.

“You’re a vampire!” Jonah snapped, though the words _hurt_ coming out, as though he’d burned his mouth on a hot drink. “It would ill-suit an immortal creature that’s lurked in his house for a century to be _impatient_.”

Jonah froze as soon as he was finished speaking, struck with the realization that he’d most definitely made a terrible mistake.

Mordechai laughed.

It wasn’t the low, chuffing laugh of before. It was deep, and loud, and genuinely amused.

“You little spitfire!” he chuckled. “You truly don’t know what’s happening, do you?” Mordechai leered. “Ignorance is your only weapon.”

Jonah tried to catch his breath around the sensation of phantom blistering across the inside of his mouth, as Mordechai stepped close to him again.

When he reached out, clearly to lay a hand on Jonah’s face again, Jonah snapped his teeth at his fingers. It didn’t dissuade Mordechai at all, but it got another of those bright, shocked-proud smiles out of him.

“Not so sweet, are you?” Mordechai said, taking Jonah’s face in both hands. He brushed his thumbs across Jonah’s cheeks, examining him, leaning close enough that Jonah could have kissed him. “I’d thought of keeping you as a pet, but you’ll make a better protégé.”

Jonah didn’t even have time to cry out before the fangs sunk into his throat.

*

It was only much later that Jonah realized that Mordechai had let him go. 

If he’d intended to drain Jonah dry, he would have kept hold of him, no matter how he struggled. Even without the superior strength of vampirism, Jonah was too slight to escape the grip of a man Mordechai’s size.

But Jonah tore himself free of Mordechai’s hands and teeth, staggering back from him with both hands clamped over his throat. He could feel the sedative seeping into him, working with the blood loss, making him sway. He fought it, desperate.

“I thought you weren’t going to kill me!” Jonah yelped, his voice cracking into the high octave he’d trained his natural speech away from.

“My intention is to make the decision easier for you,” Mordechai said, a smirk on his face.

“What?” Jonah squeaked. He pressed his hands tighter to his throat, trying to stem the flow of crimson.

Mordechai lifted his own wrist to his mouth and slid one fang across the skin, splitting it open, then pressed down, setting the wound gushing. Blood flowed down his wrist, staining his cuff.

Jonah watched, transfixed, as Mordechai stepped closer to him. He held his bleeding wrist up to Jonah’s mouth. “Drink,” he told him. “Or you will die.”

It wasn’t even a question.

Jonah drank, and drank, sucking blood from the wound, biting into the flesh for purchase as he sucked on it, like a newborn animal latched onto a teat. He shuddered, loss and gain dizzying him.

When Jonah’s knees went weak, Mordechai caught him. He cradled Jonah to his chest, and the tenderness amidst the pain nearly blinded him to the fact that Mordechai had latched back onto his neck, no longer biting but drinking nonetheless.

At some point, Jonah’s vision went dark. He still had sensation, and the violent compulsion to drink his fill of Mordechai’s blood, but everything was an incoherent blur of pain and not-pain.

He woke up with his throat bandaged and his mouth tasting of copper, stomach cramping with hunger, and desperately afraid.

His head was resting in Mordechai’s lap, and his hair was being stroked, tenderly, by a calloused hand.

“You ought to be grateful to the rain,” Mordechai said, when Jonah stirred. “If your clothes had not clung to you, I wouldn’t have noticed your… condition.”

“I am not thankful to be revealed,” Jonah snapped, though the words came out woozy and high-pitched.

“You should be. It saved your life. I would have taken more if I had not known.”

Jonah mulled over that, and decided to nod.

“What did you do?” he asked, at length.

Mordechai scoffed. “I turned you, sweet one. Haven’t you noticed you no longer feel the chill?”

Jonah sat up, head spinning. He opened his mouth to speak, but Mordechai cut him off with an enthralling “ _Hush_ , Jonah!”

“What changes can I expect?” Jonah asked, once he’d fought through both the scorched-mouth feeling of fighting the thrall and the lump in his throat.

Mordechai made a sound in the back of his throat, maybe shock, maybe intended to be soothing. “Your teeth, first of all. Your canines will loosen like milk teeth, and your fangs will replace them. It will hurt.”

Jonah nodded—he could already feel the ache; the bite of pain high in his gums, something foreign taking shape, taking root.

“You will need to feed,” Mordechai continued. “On blood. Animal will suffice, but human is better.”

Of course.

“You will still be able to walk in daylight, but it will burn you more easily, and strain your eyes. You will feel the urge to sleep in daytime, and wake at night. Such patterns can be resisted, but not without consequence.”

Jonah’s vision tilted and blurred, his head swimming.

“Eventually, you will be able to make use of the thrall, and build resistance to it as well—Jonah, compose yourself.”

Blistering heat spread through Jonah’s mouth and throat but he could no more obey the thrall than resist it. His body trembled, giving into the shock of it all.

 _I didn’t want this,_ was all he could think, as Mordechai sputtered, trying to regain control of Jonah. _I didn’t want this, I didn’t want this, I was curious, I was just curious._

“Jonah!” Mordechai snapped, forcing eye contact with both hands on Jonah’s face. “That is enough hysteria.”

With a suddenness that made Jonah gasp, his mind was clear. The terror abated, his breath steadied, and the shuddering ceased.

He couldn’t feel anything. There was nothing under the panic. No delight, no deep horror. Not even grief. Just a blank shock.

He was fleeing before Mordechai could grab hold of him, tearing down the hallways of Moorland House at a frenzied pace.

He realized only when he’d reached burst out of the front door that he hadn’t struggled to navigate that strange, twisting place—he hadn’t needed to navigate at all. He had simply known the way.

That same sense of direction sent him wandering through the streets—slower now, but still quick enough that anyone he came across leapt away from his urgency.

He found himself knocking on a door he distantly recognized, but couldn’t place, until Barnabas Bennett opened the door.

“Jonah! What the Devil’s happened to you?”

Barnabas took hold of Jonah’s shoulders, and the warmth of him broke the thrall. Jonah fell into his arms, shaking, weeping like a child, and Barnabas held him.

*

“You ought to have known better,” Barnabas said, not for the first time that night.

“I _know,_ ” Jonah whined, shifting the glass of ice to his opposite cheek. “I know, Barnabas, I made a mistake. But it’s done now, all I can do is adjust to it.”

“I mean, really,” Barnabas prodded, “Mordechai Lukas? _Jonathan_ could have told you that he was a vampire, and the dear doctor does his best to _ignore_ such unseemly goings-on.”

Jonah prodded at his emerging fangs with his tongue, wincing. “You know how I am about rumors. I had to know for certain.”

Barnabas sighed long-sufferingly. “You’re mad, Jonah. Well and truly mad.”

Jonah took an ice chip from the glass and pitched it at Barnabas. “I was under Mordechai’s thrall while he was turning me, yes, but that is no longer the case. I am fully conscious.”

Barnabas yelped when the ice bounced off his cheek. “I’m not _referring_ , most beloved Jonah, to the thrall. I’m referring to your complete inability to leave well enough alone.”

“And yet,” Jonah spread his arms. “Here you are, my dear. Still with me. Not leaving well enough alone yourself.”

“Well, I love you,” Barnabas said, quietly.

Jonah didn’t look at him. “I know, Barnabas.”

Barnabas stood up. He knelt beside Jonah’s chair, resting a hand on his knee. “I am here for you, and here I will remain.”

Jonah inhaled deeply. “You may not want to,” he said, his voice low and strained.

“Of course I—”

“Barnabas!” Jonah snapped. “Get away from me.”

Barnabas flinched back, hurt blooming in his eyes. “Fine, if that is how you react, I’ll take my love elsewhere. No matter that I took you in when you came to my doorstep at an ungodly hour of the night, weeping, half monstrous—”

“Barnabas,” Jonah whined. The glass shattered on the floor, ice chips scattering. He wasn’t aware that he’d dropped it.

Barnabas stopped speaking. He was still kneeling, but his eyes had gone realization-wide.

Jonah’s throaty whine turned into an animal growl, and then a whimper of distress. “Barnabas,” he whispered, hoarsely. “Please, I’m so hungry, I don’t want to hurt you.”

Barnabas, finally catching on, scrambled back, across the room from Jonah. His eyes were wide. 

Jonah clamped his palms over his eyes, but he could still hear his heart race with animal fear, his breath coming quick, he could sense every movement as though he were still looking.

He could smell him. He could _smell_ —

There was someone at the door.

Jonah’s head snapped up and he snarled, startling Barnabas.

There was a knock on the door. 

Mordechai Lukas stepped inside without so much as an invitation. “Barnabas Bennett. That’s something of mine you have there.”

Jonah whined, low in his throat. It was intended as a warning, but it just sounded like a plea.

“I—” Barnabas stammered. “I thought you required an invitation to enter a home.”

Mordechai laughed—it was a low, threatening rumble, threatening danger as thunder threatened a storm. “You invited Jonah into your home. We are of the same blood. An invitation given to him extends to me.”

Jonah went to Mordechai’s side, like a beaten dog. Mordechai gripped his chin with one hand, turning his face back and forth. Jonah winced when Mordechai’s thumb pressed into his tender gums, but he didn’t make a sound.

“Your fangs are coming in nicely.” Mordechai pushed Jonah’s lip up with his thumb. “Impressively quick growth, for only having fed once.” His eyes flicked to Barnabas. “Unless…”

“He hasn’t touched me,” Barnabas said. Jonah’s chest twinged at the fierce protectiveness in his voice.

“Your self-control, as well,” Mordechai acknowledged. “Sweet thing.”

Jonah turned his face into Mordechai’s broad palm. His head ached so badly he could barely breathe, and he was hungry. He could smell Barnabas shifting uncomfortably behind him.

“Run,” Jonah rasped. Mordechai’s grip tightened on his face.

“What?” Barnabas asked, in a tone that said _please let me be wrong._

“Run,” Jonah repeated, squeezing his eyes shut. “Run, Barnabas, _now._ ”

Barnabas ran. Mordechai moved to run after him, and Jonah put himself in the way.

“Wait,” Jonah begged. “Mordechai, I’ll be good. I swear I’ll be good. I only ask for this one thing. Let Barnabas live.”

“You’re my thrall,” Mordechai snarled. “I don’t need your compliance.”

“ _Yet,_ ” Jonah replied. “But you won’t be able to hold me under your thrall forever. And if you do not grant me this favor, as soon as I am strong enough, I will tear out your throat.”

Mordechai scowled for a moment, then broke into a rumbling laugh. “You’ll make a very good vampire, Jonah. Now, let’s find you something to eat.”


End file.
